


The Email

by LiterallyThePresident



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Lily is mentioned, Unhappy Ending, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 11:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyThePresident/pseuds/LiterallyThePresident
Summary: Sammy leaves. Sammy dies. Ben finds out.





	The Email

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write The Sads. This was actually inspired by Rebecca’s death in the game The Letter! If you want a fun idea of what Sammy’s corpse looked like, go watch her death scene on youtube (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pDULYBb1ZAA, to skip straight to the dead lady jump to 2:48:19) or buy the game because it’s super fun! I’d just post the picture but idk how on ao3

Ben dragged himself into his bedroom after a long night of running from his problems and hosting the show with Emily. God he loved her so much, so fucking much, but she wasn’t Sammy. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite fill the void his best friend had left when he’d driven off into the sunset. He tossed his bag aside and stretched, glancing around for the sleeping pills he’d taken to downing to avoid the near constant nightmares that had plagued him since Sammy had had to pry him off after their last hug goodbye.

His laptop was blinking at him, displaying a new email. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed, but he couldn’t risk doing so when the email might be from Sammy. Sighing, he sat at the chair and opened it, trying not to be too disappointed when the email turned out to be from Lily, simply titled “Sorry”.

“I figured you should know.” was all it said for a body, and that did absolutely nothing for Ben’s already shot nerves. Swallowing, he opened the first attachment.

It was a police report from three days ago, from the Los Angeles police department. Ben’s heart clenched with fear and denial as he read it, knowing who it was about even before he read the name. Victim name: Samuel Carter Stevens. Victim age: 35. Cause of death: Suicide by jumping from the roof of a library.

“No.” he whispered, his voice coming out hoarse and too loud in the silence of his bedroom, “No. No, this is a prank. A sick joke.” But he kept clicking, hands shaking as he went through the report, looking at scan after scan of the papers.

The last picture wasn’t a scan of a report. It was a photo, a simple photo taken by some forensic worker who likely didn’t even know who they were photographing. Sammy’s broken form lying on a sidewalk, a scene straight out of a nightmare. The entire right side of his face was caved in, his right eye out of its socket, his bloodshot left eye lifeless and dull as it stared emptily into the camera. His hair fanned around his head, soaked in the crimson pool of blood and tissue that surrounded him. Even with all the mess, Ben recognized his best friend. Undeniable proof that this wasn’t a prank.

Ben lurched away from the computer, unable to reach the trash can in time as he threw up everything he’d eaten since third grade. He gasped and retched, tears mingling with bile on his bedroom floor, the foul smell burning his nose as his heart tried to exit his body through his throat. He sobbed, hunched over the foul puddle as his stomach roiled and his eyes burned and his body trembled. Sammy was dead. Sammy was dead and it was all Ben’s fault. He didn’t push hard enough. He didn’t do enough, he didn’t get on his knees and beg, he didn’t kidnap Sammy and force him to stay. He’d just stood by and let Sammy go, and now his best friend was gone. He was probably lying dead and alone in a strange morgue in a city he hated. Ben felt like vomiting all over again, but he had nothing left in his stomach. He shakily shuffled away from the vomit, collapsing against the wall and trying to get his violent trembling under control. A small part of his brain knew he should call someone lest he hyperventilate. Emily, Troy, anyone, but he couldn’t risk them seeing the email, and he couldn’t trust his legs to hold him up with how they were shaking.

So he sat, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to _think_ anything besides the litany of _no_ _no_ _no_ _Sammy_ _Sammy_ _why_ _god_ _no_ _please_ _god_ _no_ _no_ _Sammy_. He stayed curled up against the wall, shaking and gasping for air, hiccuping and sobbing and and staring wildly at the gruesome picture left innocently on his laptop. Not that it mattered. The image was burned into his eyes now. He’d never be able to forget it, never be able to close his eyes without seeing it. 

Sammy was dead. Sammy was _dead_. Sammy had killed himself, Sammy was _gone_ _forever_ and Ben would _never_ see him again.

Ben tore his eyes away and buried his face in his hands, finally finding the will to scream.


End file.
